Dear God
by Tehri
Summary: With the state of the world, Arthur finds it hard to believe in a certain omnipotent holy being; Alfred decides to see what's wrong with the old man.


_**Y'ello there! Random fic is random, but anyway. Time for a disclaimer or two. First, I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters. If I did, I'd be Awesome, with a capital A. I'm not Awesome with a capital A. Second, the band XTC made the song "Dear God". Now, that should clear everything up, I believe. :D On with the story!**_

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One ridiculous idea after another came from America, and all of them were constantly shot down. The strange thing was that they were not shot down by England, who usually criticized every single little thing; today, the man who represented the United Kingdom was eerily silent. He had hardly said a word during the entire meeting, leaving the loud bickering to everyone else. And quite frankly, some nations had started to get really nervous because of it. After a particularly loud argument with France, Alfred finally decided to try to involve England in the conversation.

"Well, we just need another opinion on this," he declared, shooting the Frenchman a glare. "England, what do you think about this idea?"

It was quiet for a short moment. Arthur slowly lifted his head and looked at the younger nation, a slightly distant look still on his face.

"It's ridiculous," he said softly. "And you know that it is, America. Now, instead of discussing global warming during _every single bloody meeting_, could we move on to something else? Something that _won't_ give you stupid ideas and that might actually force you to be serious for once?"

The silence that followed was absolutely stunning. If one listened enough, even a feather would've made a sound by fluttering to the floor. A few things were seriously wrong here. For one, Arthur was _not_ completely paying attention, that's for certain, even though he heard about the ideas. Second, he was _not_ shouting at the younger nation as he would normally do. Thirdly, he was actually trying to force America's attention away from the global warming issue, which no other nation had dared to try. Even Japan seemed a bit distressed.

"A-ano," he began nervously. "England-san, is... is everything alright?"

Arthur sent him a slight smile.

"Perfectly dandy," he said, his voice still strangely soft. "Just a bit lost in thought."

Another moment passed before the meeting finally began to continue, slowly but surely. And they were finally drifting away from the issue they had previously discussed. Alfred kept glancing at his old mentor; he felt slightly miffed about the way the man had acted.

_I think I prefer it when he yells at me_, he thought to himself. _What's with him, anyway? Acting like he doesn't care..._

---

An entire month passed by, and Alfred could barely believe what was going on. Arthur had not been yelling at him for _ages_! He hadn't even _bothered_ with correcting the younger nation when the lad did something that would usually piss him off. He'd just sit there, sipping his tea and ignoring questions and expressions of concern, no matter where they came from. The Italian brothers had taken to freaking out whenever he entered the room, and Francis seemed to try to lighten the mood by harassing the Englishman even more than usual. But there was just no response. Alfred had also tried everything that would usually trigger a furious reaction, but the only thing he ever got in response was an empty look. And it was starting to get _him_ a little bit on the ticked off side. He wanted to know what was wrong with the older man, and he was _not_ going to let this slide. Ever. But once Francis asked him what was wrong and he decided to vent this frustration, he only got a slightly reprimanding look.

"_Mon dieu_," Francis sighed. "This shows what you know... _Oui_, he is bothered by something, that should have gotten through your incredibly thick skull. I visited him a few days ago, and it seems that he has been going through newspapers." The Frenchman shrugged and shook his head. "I believe that our dear _Angleterre_ is worried about the state of the world right now, with the way he's acting. He wants to focus on the poor countries, and all that."

Alfred frowned slightly. It could be true, of course... He'd really need to have a serious talk with Arthur next time he came to visit the older man...

* * *

Yet another month passed before Alfred could find the time to visit his old mentor. But once he came there, he could really feel a tense atmosphere surrounding the entire house that belonged to the man named Arthur Kirkland, also known as England. He unceremoniously walked up the door and opened it, immediately greeted by the sound of a guitar... He recognised the tune, but he couldn't quite remember what it was called; all he knew was that the band was British, and that Arthur happened to like them. After the smooth intro, Arthur's voice sounded, singing the words with a soft voice; Alfred traced the sound up the stairs and to the older man's bedroom. The door was open, and Alfred merely stood there. Arthur sat on the bed, a guitar in his hands, and sang gently.

"_Dear God,_

_Hope you got the letter and_

_I pray you can make it better down here._

_I don't mean a big reduction in the price of beer;_

_But all the people that you made in your image,_

_See them starving on their feet,_

'_Cause they don't get enough to eat_

_From God..._

_I can't believe in you..._"

Alfred frowned slightly. Arthur sounded bitter... No, not bitter, but sad. This realisation made the American blink and watch the man a little more carefully, taking in his expression; seemingly relaxed, half-lidded eyes, a sad look in those green orbs... And a very faint smile on his lips as he continued, now with a little stronger voice.

"_Dear God,_

_Sorry to disturb you, but_

_I feel that I should be heard loud and clear._

_We all need a big reduction in the amount of tears,_

_And all the people that you made in your image,_

_See them fighting in the street_

'_Cause they can't make opinions meet_

_About God._

_I can't believe in you._"

The eyes closed completely, and the tunes from the guitar seemed a little bit louder.

"_Did you make disease, and the diamond blue?_

_Did you make mankind after we made you?_

_And the devil too?_"

Arthur stopped singing for a moment, only the guitar sounding for a few seconds; it was somehow a comforting sound, but soon the Englishman's voice found it's strength and joined the music again.

"_Dear God,_

_Don't know if you noticed, but..._

_Your name is on a lot of quotes in this book._

_Us crazy humans wrote it, you should take a look!_

_And all the people that you made in your image,_

_Still believing that junk is true;_

_Well, I know it ain't, and so do you!_

_Dear God..._"

The sadness worked it's way into the man's voice again, suddenly making it sound incredibly fragile. Arthur's eyes opened again, at first with a look of helplessness and disbelief clearly written in them.

"_I can't believe in..._

_I don't believe in..._"

Arthur's voice and expression hardened, something akin to anger in his eyes as he practically began to shout out the words.

"_I won't believe in Heaven and Hell,_

_No saints, no sinners, no Devil as well!_

_No pearly gates, no thorny crown!_

_You're always letting us humans down!_

_The wars you bring, the babes you drown,_

_Those lost at sea and never found!_"

Alfred swallowed and stared; he had never seen his old mentor like this before. All bitterness worked it's way into the Brit's voice, and the words stung Alfred's heart even though they were not directed at him.

"_And it's the same the whole world 'round!_

_The hurt I see helps to compound_

_That Father, Son and Holy Ghost_

_Is just somebody's unholy hoax!_

_And if you're up there, you'd perceive_

_That my heart's here upon my sleeve!_

_If there's one thing I don't believe in...!_"

Arthur stopped short for a moment, as if realising that he had been shouting. He sang the last words with an eerily quiet voice.

"_It's you..._

_Dear God._"

He let out a deep sigh and put the guitar down next to him on the bed. As he got up and turned around, catching sight of the American who calmly leaned against the doorframe, a scowl immediately appeared on his face.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here," he growled angrily. "How long have you been standing there?!"

Alfred smiled softly and stepped into the room. The Englishman attempted to step around him, but Alfred caught him quickly and hugged him close, gloved fingers threading through blonde hair.

"We're trying to correct it," he whispered. "You know we are. Please, be patient. He hears you, he knows, Arthur. You're the one who always made sure I'd say my evening prayers, so I'm not going to let you doubt him when he's doing his best to guide us in the right direction..."

Arthur had struggled against the hug at first, but at the words, he suddenly relaxed slightly and clutched at the younger man's shirt.

"And how should I be able to believe," he said, trying to ignore the fact that his voice sounded strangely hoarse. "How should I be able to believe, Alfred, when the world is like this...? I know that I shouldn't doubt... But how can I _not_ doubt him? I can't believe, I just can't..."

Alfred smiled gently and allowed one of his hands to trail over Arthur's cheek.

"We're doing _something_," he replied. "We're doing something to help, but you can't expect the results to show up right away. You always tell me to have patience, I never thought I'd say it to you. Seriously, just wait a little bit. It's like..." He frowned a little as he ransacked his mind for something that could work. "Ah! I know! It's like when I wait for my birthday, and I get all giddy, but I know that I have to wait a bit more. Or... or Christmas! You know, how kids always get super-excited and want to open their presents right away, but they know that they're not allowed to do that!"

Arthur let out a quiet chuckle, finally allowing himself to smile at the obnoxious American.

"Or when Feliciano starts to whine about wanting pasta," he said. "And Ludwig always tells him to be patient."

"Hey, good one!" Said American flashed a wide grin. "Or when I was a kid and you'd go back here to England all the time and I'd have to force myself not to sit at the docks and wait for you to come back, because I knew it'd take a long time."

The Englishman sighed and nodded.

"Or like that," he agreed. "Doesn't mean I've stopped doubting." He chuckled again at the slightly hurt look on Alfred's face. "Don't give me that look... I'm doubting, but I'll be patient. Alright? I promise."

He was pulled into another hug, not noticing the odd warm and gentle smile that spread on the younger man's lips.

_In God we trust_, he thought. _All he needs is some sort of a distraction. Time for the hero!_

---

Of course, also next meeting was a complete disaster. And in the middle of it all, Alfred saw Arthur roll his eyes and stare up at the ceiling before suddenly speaking up in the racket around him.

"Dear God," he said, his voice loud and clear. "You know what? Fuck you!"

And Alfred promptly burst out laughing.


End file.
